


A Bullet or Two for You

by IsEmilyReal



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Medical Procedures, No Major Character Death, War wounds, World War II, doctor!Phil, just dudes being gay, nurse!Louise, soldier!Dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsEmilyReal/pseuds/IsEmilyReal
Summary: “What else is a man our age good for in the middle of a war?”Daniel Howell is conscripted into the British Army at 19. At 24, with the help of a little hot metal, he meets a man who changes his perspective. Maybe hospital isn't so bad after all.





	1. The Literal Bullet

He raised his Lee-Enfield to his shoulder, firmly pressing the butt into his body. Shots rang out around him as he leaned into the wood. His brown eyes quickly flicked back and forth before settling on a target. He exhaled and squeezed the trigger, picked his head up slightly off the wood, and slid the bolt back.

“Dan, hurry!” A boy called out to him. The rest of the men were further up the beach. He heard mortar fire in the distance and wondered for a moment.  _ How many men wouldn’t get to go home? How many would die on a foreign beach, away from those who truly loved them? _

_ “ _ Dan!”

He stood, sand sticking to his soaked uniform. Half-ducked, he ran, headed for the thirty or so men he landed with. He was only a few yards away when gunfire erupted from the bunker on the ridge ahead of him. He dropped to the ground. The boys on the beach returned fire, and after a few minutes, the shooting stopped.

“Let's go,” the lieutenant commanded. Dan pushed himself off the sand, sprinting for the men ahead of him. He wished desperately to catch up and blend in.

Moments into the platoon’s quick push forward, bullets sprayed from the bunker. Boys hit the ground, pushing their heads toward the sand. 

Dan didn't get down fast enough.

He fell to the ground, fiery pain bursting from his right shoulder. He screamed. It was worse than anything he’d felt in his life.

He pressed a hand to the wound and lifted it, looking at the blood. He’d never seen so much of his own blood before. 

A soldier knelt beside him. “Jesus, Dan, you have to learn to keep up.”

Dan glanced up. John, a medic, peered over him. They had never found a helmet that fit him quite right. It slid to the side as he took a look at the wound. He opened the bag at his side and pulled out some bandages. 

Dan tried to sit up, as much as it hurt him to do so. Sweat rolled down his face. John quickly layered the cloth and pushed it firmly into Dan’s chest, then tightly wrapped more cloth around his shoulder and torso to secure the dressing.

He retrieved a small tube from his bag and punctured the tube with the attached needle. He pushed the needle into Dan’s good arm, injecting the medicine into a vein.

John drug him to a dip in the sand, showing his white and red medic band to the bunker on the ridge. “Don't move,” he instructed, kindness in his eyes. “Somebody will pick you up in a bit.”

Dan managed a nod and leaned back, breathing hard. He watched John scurry off to another wounded man. The pain in his shoulder made it hard for him to think straight. 

It was 8:00 am. His brigade was struggling to take the beach, and he was being incredibly useless. He took off his helmet. He didn't mind the sand in his hair. 

He didn't know how long he was there for. He kept thinking, letting every thought spill over him like the waves hitting the sand. He thought of home, and his parents, and his schoolmates, and the boy he thought was pretty in secondary school, and his old jobs, and his previous battles, and the men he got shot for, and this stupid bloody war, and how he hated the army but not enough to say anything about it. 

He watched clouds scuttle away and the sun rise higher in the sky. He slowly grew tired, his pain gradually easing.

Finally, a face appeared above his. “What’s your name?” it asked.

“Dan,” he managed to reply, struggling to overcome his grogginess. 

“Who are you with?”

“Hampshire…” he trailed off, unable to beat the desire to sleep.

“Move him,” he heard, but he couldn't distinguish the rest. By the time hands shifted him, he was already out.

* * *

On his twenty-fourth birthday, Dan was admitted to a general hospital in Knutsford for rehabilitation. A blonde nurse led him to his bed. “Here you are,” she announced. She was incredibly pretty, and he was certain she received plenty of looks from his fellow soldiers. She nodded toward the bed, and he sat.

As she knelt to remove his boots, she introduced herself. “My name’s Louise. I’m the head nurse for the ward,” she said. “Do you prefer Dan or Daniel?”

“Dan,” he replied. “You really don’t have to do that. I think I can remove them myself.”

“You were shot less than a week ago,” she told him matter-of-fact. “You’d only start bleeding again.”

Dan didn't say anything. She was probably right. 

Louise straightened, precisely setting his shoes at the foot of the bed. “Are you hungry at all?”

“A fair bit,” Dan confessed.

“I’ll have one of the girls bring you something. Captain Lester will see you in a bit,” she said cheerily, and left.

Dan scooted himself backward, resting his back on the rails on the headboard. A nurse soon brought him a bowl of soup and a newspaper. He thanked her and scanned the text as he ate.

Dan’s regiment, the Hampshires, had taken heavy casualties on Gold Beach, but they had captured Le Hammel late on the 6th. They had then taken Caen, Bayeux, and Saint-Pierre.

Dan hated war. He hated taking over towns and farms, stealing people’s jobs and lives. He hated witnessing the destruction, more so causing it.

However, he understood why he was sent overseas. He understood the idea of fighting for something, whether it be for freedom or for king and country. He felt obligated to serve and most likely would have joined the Territorials if he hadn't been conscripted. 

He laid the paper across his legs and gazed around the room. Men, in various states of consciousness, occupied the beds around him. Nearly every bed was filled, a testament to the damage done by German weapons. Nurses darted between them, carefully redressing wounds and passing around soup and coffee. 

He polished off his soup and looked into his bowl. He didn't want to hold it forever, but he didn't know where to take it. 

“Private Howell?” a man asked.  


Dan looked up and was floored by the beauty in front of him. Piercing blue eyes gazed at him with humor and kindness. They sat over a beak of a nose and behind square black glasses. Black bangs had been pushed to the side, framing his face. His smile was a little lopsided and sat amongst a late-day shadow. He was paler than most soldiers Dan had met, and a spot of red sat on one porcelain cheek. It was most likely blood, but Dan didn't want to ask.

“Y-yeah,” he replied, voice cracking. God, why did he have to be so weird? He cleared his throat. “That’s me.”

“Captain Philip Lester,” the man said, and extended a hand.

“I’d shake your hand, honest,” Dan said.

Captain Lester chuckled. “Sorry, slipped my mind for a moment.” The man bent down and inspected Dan’s bandages.

The captain’s fingers were warm on his skin. Dan wished he had a shirt on. He was always self-conscious about his body. He had always been skinny, but he had just enough weight on his stomach and hips to notice.

Captain Lester carefully pulled the bandaging off Dan’s chest, revealing a line of sutures and an iodine stain. “Where all have you been deployed?” he asked, still focused on the wound.

“We spent a fair amount of time in Egypt and Italy,” Dan replied. “Malta was rough.” He remembered the siege and the hunger as their food situation worsened. “Gold was the first time I'd been in northern Europe.”

“Who were you with?”

“1st Battalion, Hampshire Regiment.”

The man slowly ran his fingers down the line of stitches and the skin around them. “Hampshire? Are you from there?”

Dan tried not to squirm from the pain. “I'm from Wokingham. I had just moved to Aldershot when I was conscripted.”

“Huh,” Lester replied, brows furrowing. “I'm from Rawtenstall myself, just a hop and a skip north of here. Mum was happy when the hospital moved.”

Dan found himself staring at the man. It was easy to converse with him, something Dan usually had a deal of trouble with. Blue eyes caught his own. “What?” the captain asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Dan stammered, flustered. “Uh, yeah, actually. On your, uh, cheek.” He tapped his own cheek with his free hand.

Lester swiped his cheek and inspected his hand. “I wonder how that got there,” he remarked, and wiped the matter on the edge of his coat. The man straightened. “Anyway, your incision looks alright, but we’re going to give you penicillin just to make sure. I’ll take your stitches out in a week or two, I think.”

“You think?” Dan could not believe it. He was so handsome but so  _ goofy.  _ He wondered how the man had become a doctor, and if whoever certified him was on drugs.

“Depends on how it heals, whether you get gangrene, all that stuff. Any questions?” Lester asked nonchalantly.

“Uh, I don't think so.”

“I'll be back to check on you tomorrow, then. It’s nice to meet you!” Lester started to leave, but soon turned around. “Happy birthday, by the way,” he said, smiling, and strode off before Dan could say anything. He heard the captain call “Louise!” in the distance.

Dan thought for a moment. He didn't know how to feel. On one hand, he was kind and funny and by far the most beautiful person Dan had ever seen. On the other hand, he wasn't the kind of person one felt comfortable trusting their health and wellbeing with.

Dan sat for a minute or two until he heard wheels clacking up to his bed. Louise pushed a small cart against the wall, then looked at him. He looked back at her, wearing the same baffled expression Lester had left him with. 

She cackled. “Don't worry,” Louise said, “everybody feels like that when they first meet him.” She prepped a needle a little too large for Dan’s liking. “Roll over, I have to put this in your hip.”


	2. Coffee in a Closet

Dan began walking around the hospital a week later, so immensely bored by sitting in bed with nothing to do. The highlights of his bed rest included reading some medical texts Captain Lester lent him and the doctor’s insistence that, since they were sharing books, Dan should call him Phil, because that was what his friends called him.

His first few days of standing were spent pacing the ward. Eventually, Louise became fed up with Dan being in the way and set him to organizing food supplies. He enjoyed the task, even if it was just meant to keep him out of everyone’s hair. 

He could bend his arm at the elbow, and for the most part that was good enough, as they didn't keep much on the taller shelves. He tried to lift everything he could, leaving only the heaviest packages for the nurses to put away. He admired them for not running away from all the wounds and infections, and he wanted to help where he could.

He was putting away the tea when he heard a throat clear behind him. Turning, he found Phil. He was a little pleased to notice he was an inch taller than the doctor, but he kept it to himself.

“Are you supposed to be doing that?” the man asked, smiling.

“Oh, um, I’m not sure,” Dan replied, flustered. “Louise gave me something to do.”

Phil chuckled. “To keep you out of the way? She usually makes me finish my charts when I'm being useless.”

“Aren't you supposed to do those anyway?”

“Yeah, but I always put them off until late. Then I stay up late to finish them and wake up tired. I think coffee is the only reason I'm alive.” 

Dan laughed. He felt the same way most mornings.

“I was just coming in here to get some sugar for another cup. Would you get it down for me?” Phil asked.

The sugar was at Dan’s eye level. He reached up to grab it, only feeling dull pain from his stitches, and pulled it down. A bit pleased with himself, he handed it to Phil.

“Did that hurt at all?” Phil wondered, curious.

Dan thought for a moment, trying to measure it against how he usually felt. Most pain was lackluster in comparison to being shot. “Not as much as it used to,” he replied, completely aware of how unhelpful his answer was. “It's more uncomfortable than painful.”

“That's good! You're healing! Let me see your incision.”

“No!” Dan exclaimed. He’d have to unbutton his shirt, and it would look weird if anyone walked in. He tried to come up with a good excuse. “I'm busy!”

Phil huffed. “I just wanted to  _ look. _ ” He had a trace of a northern accent that Dan enjoyed. “Do you want a cup of coffee, or are you too busy?” he asked mockingly.

“You can never be too busy for coffee,” Dan said. “A little bit of cream and sugar. Not a lot, or it gets gross.” Phil laughed and left to make the drinks.

Dan continued to sort supplies, thinking about Phil the whole time. He couldn't help but be attracted to his bright, bubbly personality. “Anyone would be,” he mumbled to himself.

“What was that?” Phil asked, scaring Dan.

“Oh, nothing, just figuring out how to sort these.”

“Alright,” Phil replied, and handed Dan a mug. He sat on a crate and sipped his coffee, knees pulled to his chest. The position didn't look comfortable, but Dan didn't comment.

Instead, he found another empty crate and tipped it on its side. Sitting, he stretched his legs out in front of him, filling most of the closet’s unoccupied space. Dan sipped his coffee and hummed contently. Phil had made it just right.

“Is it gross?” Phil asked, looking a little worried.

“No, it's perfect,” Dan replied. “Thank you.” He thought for a moment. “You can look at my records and find out anything you want about me, but I don't have any way to learn about you.”

“Do you want me to just run the basics by you?” Phil asked. When Dan nodded, he began. “I already told you where I’m from, didn't I?” Dan nodded again. “I'll be 29 at the end of January. I have an older brother, Martyn . I like plants, even though I'm not good at growing them. I’ve killed a handful of my mom’s flower patches,” the man chuckled. “I'm not great at keeping things alive, so I guess I decided my job would be keeping people alive.”

Dan laughed. “That makes perfect sense.”

“Why’d you move to Aldershot?” Phil asked out of the blue. “If you don't mind me asking,” he added.

Dan blushed. He didn’t want to lie, but the truth was rather embarrassing. He decided to be honest, hoping Phil wouldn't laugh.

“I moved to find a job. I went to law school for a year and decided it wasn't for me,” Dan paused, meeting Phil’s eyes. They looked at him with invested interest, urging him to finish the story, but Dan was captivated. They seemed blue at first, but on closer inspection, they contained shades of green and yellow.

“Dan?” Phil’s voice brought him back into reality.

He looked down, smiling wryly into his cup. “I went home for a few months, then my mum kicked me out. Well,” he explained, “not officially. She made me try to figure out what I was going to do with my life. So I moved into an flat in Aldershot and worked for a grocer for a while.”

“Then you got dragged into this God-forsaken war,” Phil commented, voice laced with previously unknown contempt.

“Exactly,” Dan quietly replied. The two sipped their coffee for a moment, the silence settling in Dan’s chest. It weighed on his lungs as he recalled various skirmishes and the lives he had taken.

Desperate to pull himself out of the the well of sadness he had fallen into, Dan commented, “I’d hate to have your job. Mine is so impersonal. You're right there with everyone.”

Phil stared at nothing. “I originally did English language at university. I wanted to be a teacher.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I broke my arm. I guess seeing the doctors healing everybody changed something in me.”

Dan pondered Phil’s response for a moment. “Why military?”

“What else is a man our age good for in the middle of a war?” Phil quipped. “If I didn't sign up, they’d force me.” He sighed, shoulders dropping. The noise struck a chord within Dan, pushing his heart into his spine. He wanted to change the conversation, but before he could, Phil continued. “The hardest wounds are the disfiguring ones. Hits like yours are a breeze. A month or two and the only thing you walk out of here with is a scar and occasional pain. Some people don't leave with all their limbs, or at all. It's hell.” The beauty knocked back the last bit of his coffee.

Dan didn't know whether to feel guilty or sympathetic. He went for the third option. “Well, Captain Lester, do you have a middle name? Most people do, but you're eccentric enough that it's questionable.”

A broad grin spread across Phil’s face, and Dan found one plastered on himself. “Michael, if you must know,” Phil replied loftily. The two burst out laughing.

When they settled, they finally heard her. “What’s going on here?” Louise asked, hands on hips.

“Nothing,” Dan said sheepishly.

“Then why are you on the floor?”

Phil replied, “We’re just two men sharing a coffee and chatting in a storage closet.”

“Of course,” she said. “I shouldn't have expected either of you to actually do your jobs.” Dan snorted.

Phil turned back to him. “Sorry, Dan, gotta go. My old lady’s calling for me,” he said, teasing Louise. He stood, stretched, and brushed past the woman in the doorway. 

“You’d divorce me in a week,” she shot back. “You wouldn't be able to handle it.”

“I put my money on you leaving first,” Phil replied. He flashed a grin and a wave at Dan and walked away.

Dan looked at Louise, a blush powdering his cheeks. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't know he was busy.”

“You’re fine,” she replied, smiling at him. “I imagine he just came in and started talking. I always try to catch him off guard, but I think I don't faze him anymore.”

Dan chuckled. “I don't think anything does.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said. “Finish putting all this away and go back to bed when you're done.” She turned and left.

Dan finished his coffee.  _ "You’d be surprised?"  _ He thought.  _ What’s that supposed to mean? _

* * *

Two days later, Dan was laying in bed when Phil approached with a pair of scissors and forceps. Louise followed him with a small dish. “It's time to take your stitches out,” Phil declared.

Dan sighed. He wasn't prepared. He thought it would hurt, so he didn't want to do it, and he didn't want Phil to do it, either. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, dreading the procedure.

They had abandoned the bandages a day earlier, as the wound quit oozing. Phil sat on the edge of the bed, pushing Dan’s shirt off his shoulder. “These are sharp, so try to stay still,” he warned he younger man, then slipped one edge of the scissors under a suture. With the slightest bit of a tug, he cut the silk just beside the knot. Using the forceps, he pulled the string out of the skin and deposited the suture into the dish.

This continued. Dan was amazed that he felt nothing more than a pinch. Phil’s hands were as gentle and warm as an early summer breeze, just brushing over Dan’s wound. When he finished, he leaned down to inspect his work.

His beak of a nose was just inches from Dan’s skin. He traced over the scar with a finger, making Dan shiver. Dan felt the heat rise to his face once he realized what he’d done. 

“Still a bit sensitive,” Phil muttered, low enough that Dan could hardly hear him. The man gazed at the scar for another moment, then flicked his eyes upward and caught Dan’s. He smirked slightly, and Dan’s blush deepened. 

Dan wanted to scream. Phil was too much. He really wouldn't be able to handle much more of this without taking some time to sort his feelings out.

Luckily, Louise saved him from his heart. “Dr. Lester,” she said, either warning him or waking him, Dan couldn’t tell.

“Oh!” Phil exclaimed, startled. “I'm sorry, I just got to thinking. Raise your arm for me?” he asked, and Dan obeyed. It didn't hurt all that much. Phil set his hands on Dan’s forearm and pushed it all the way up. He then guided the arm out to the side, and worriedly looked at Dan for a reaction.

“It's alright,” he reassured Phil. “It only hurt a little.”

“You sure? You’re not just putting a brave face on for me?”

“I'm fine, I promise,” Dan said. He really was. He didn't know why Phil was worrying.

Phil placed his hand directly over the scar. It was warm in a comfortable way. “I'm going to push on you. Resist me, and tell me when it hurts,” he instructed. He steadily applied pressure.

After about ten seconds, Dan gave in. “Ow!” he exclaimed. 

“You won't be able to shoot any time soon,” Phil said. Dan didn't know if he was overly cheery or if that was just Phil’s normal demeanor. “We’ll just have to keep working the muscles and see again in a few weeks.”

Dan was both happy and sad. He wanted to be out of the hospital, but he wanted to spend more time with Phil and Louise. He genuinely enjoyed their company, and he hoped that they would find each other once the war ended. He flashed a smile at Phil, putting his thoughts away for later, when he’d be alone.

Phil and Louise said their goodbyes and left him to himself. Dan slipped out of his shirt and crawled under the covers to think, and maybe take a nap while he was there.

He had known that he was queer for a few years. He didn't tell anyone, although he thought his mom suspected. He had struggled to come to terms with it, especially when he had feelings towards boys. He left his feelings alone until they went away, as much as it agonized him to do so, terrified of how he and his mum would be treated.

That was the private reason he left home. If he was found out, maybe it wouldn't reach his mother, and maybe he would be in a place that would be a little more accepting. He wanted desperately to move to London and to disappear in the population of the city, but he would have to work for a few years and save up enough to rent a flat. That was the plan, once this goddamn war ended.

Phil put more of a wrench in his heart than anyone else. Dan’s heart wanted so bad for him to tell the older man how he felt, that he was in love with him, even if it was disgusting and sinful. The countless conversations, the terrible jokes, the oblivious smiles, his gentle hands and voice. Dan loved Phil with all the blood in his veins and all the air in his lungs.

For just a little while, Dan let himself feel it unapologetically. He would be gone in a month or two, and maybe it would go away once he was back on the front. Maybe, once it was gone, he’d fall in love with a woman and give his mum grandchildren to watch over.

Dan closed his eyes and let himself drift to sleep. His head left him with an image of Phil right before he slipped off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a day late, but it's here. Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. See ya next week!


	3. The Metaphorical Bullet

Dan woke up late that night, having slept through most of the afternoon. Starving, he slipped out of bed in search of a snack. The night air hit his chest as he snuck past the two night-watch nurses, both of whom were lightly dozing by the door to the ward. 

He crept through the halls, as quiet as he could be, rifling through cabinets until he found something edible. Eventually, he found a biscuit tin and filched a few before returning the tin to its cabinet.

The halls were dark at night, as the moon was just the slightest bit of a sliver in the sky. He got himself hopelessly confused and wandered through the hospital. Slowly snacking on the biscuits, he roamed until he found a touch of light at the end of a corridor. 

As he approached, he panicked. What if they got onto him for being out of bed? What did he say if they found him? He always felt awful when he was scolded.  Disregarding his fears, he peered into the room.

Inside, he found a man slumped over a desk. Books lined one wall, while another held a framed piece of paper. Two chairs were unoccupied, both looking fairly uncomfortable, but Dan didn't think he would try them out. A few files were stacked on one side of the man, and on the other, a lamp gave the room a yellow hue. The window framed a spattering of stars.

Dan tiptoed through the door, careful not to make a sound. On further inspection, the man’s dark hair was quite familiar. He silently walked around the desk, catching a glimpse of a hooked nose and askew glasses. “Phil,” he breathed, remembering to stay quiet. He had fallen asleep working late, Dan presumed. 

He glanced at the bookshelf, curious as to what Phil read in his spare time. Most were work related, dry medical texts on varying diseases and treatments. The others caught his eye. Phil owned a copy of  _ On the Origin of Species,  _ a book Dan was interested in, but had never read himself. The bookshelf also contained a variety of works by most of the classic authors.

One book stood out to him, lost in the tomes surrounding it. It was a copy of  _ Sexual Inversion  _ by Havelock Ellis, just casually sitting on Phil’s bookshelf. Dan pulled it from its brethren, gazing over the cover. It seemed the entirety of Britain had something to say when it reappeared on store shelves.

Phil mumbled something in his sleep, and Dan nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly returned the volume to its home and quietly strode to the sleeping man. He leaned down, listening for whatever Phil said next, but all he got was a light snore.

Dan chuckled to himself. Of course Phil would have a controversial book on homosexuality hidden between Walt Whitman and Mary Shelley, just like he would fall asleep at his desk  _ after  _ finishing his work. He was exactly the kind of person who would lend someone medical texts instead of novels and make them fall hopelessly in love in the process. It seemed the man’s only purpose on Earth was to bewilder Dan beyond belief.

Slowly, Dan pulled Phil’s glasses off his face, setting them aside. He noticed a few drops of sweat beginning to develop on Phil’s forehead. Dan opened the window, feeling the slight breeze on his chest.

He stared out into the night for a while, thinking. Why did God make him this way? Why did he have to struggle to be happy? He was cursed, he must be. Someone in his family tree must have pissed off a witch, and they just so happened to put off the curse until now. He lost himself to his thoughts, watching the stars twinkle in the dark expanse. 

A warm hand touched his spine, sending a shiver throughout his body. Turning, he found Phil, confusion and concern written across his face. Small bits of his hair stood at odd angles, and his shirt was wrinkled. “Dan?” the man asked softly.

Dan resisted the urge to plant his lips on Phil’s. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” he replied. 

“What are you doing here? It's late.”

“I… uh…” He struggled with himself internally. Oh God, now he sounded stupid. “I got lost.”

“Lost?”

Dan wanted to shove his head through the wall. “Yeah. I needed to stretch my legs,” he explained, praying that his excuse went over well and that he didn't seem creepy.

“Ah,” Phil replied. Maybe he bought it. Dan couldn't tell, as he was too busy debating whether or not to jump out of the window. He’d probably break his ankle, but if he could get away from Phil and calm his heart down, it would be worth it. 

“I can show you back to bed,” Phil offered. 

“That would be great,” Dan sighed, relieved. He would be free from the hall that was his emotions soon.

Phil searched through his desk and found a small torch. Hesitating, he pulled his coat off the chair and held it out to Dan. “You look cold.”

“I’m not!” Dan exclaimed, defensive, although he could feel the goosebumps on his arms.

Phil laughed. “Keep your voice down and take the coat,” he insisted.

Dan relented, sliding it over his shoulders. Oh no. It smelled of soap and iodine and  _ Phil _ . It was all he could do to stop himself from stealing it.

Dan followed Phil out into the hall. The torch illuminated only a small portion of the hospital, but Phil seemed to be able to navigate the passages without it. Silently he trailed the man, heart racing, his thoughts kept back by the warmth of the coat. He slowed down thoughtlessly, lost in the confines of his mind, and eventually halted. He drifted through the fog, thinking nothing and everything at once, until a warm hand was laid upon his cheek.

His eyes unclouded, focusing on the shadowed face in front of his. His thoughts stopped in their tracks, only letting one float through his conscious.  _ Maybe he likes me the way I like him. _

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Phil asked, hushed voice laced with genuine concern.

“I guess there’s just too much stuff in my head.” He wasn’t lying entirely.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Phil had pocketed the torch, so Dan couldn’t see the expression he received, but he guessed it was caring and cute. “Just a couple of things,” he mumbled. He brain stopped his mouth from pouring his heart out, and he stuttered for a moment.

Phil’s warm hand slid up to his forehead while the other placed two fingers on his jugular vein. “You don’t seem to be physically sick, although your pulse is high,” he whispered. “You can tell me anything. Not much surprises me.”

“This might,” Dan whispered back. If this went wrong, he would be ruined. His mother would be ruined. He would be barred from a normal life for the rest of his days.

“Just spit it out, Dan. I won’t run away. I’ve heard more terrible things from the sweetest people than I hope you’ll ever experience. You really can talk to me.” 

Dan took a breath and closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts into a single question. Maybe it wouldn’t give away too much about himself. “You wouldn’t happen to… er…  _ prefer _ men, would you?”

Phil jumped, although his hands remained steady. He stammered for a bit, eventually reaching a question. “You promise you won’t tell?” he asked, small and scared. 

“Oh God! No, never!” Dan exclaimed, the mere thought of betrayal weighing heavy on his heart. “If I ratted you out I’d have to tell them about me and I don’t think I could ever do that to my mum and I can’t imagine how that would affect you and your career and you’re doing too much good to have it stopped and-“

“Dan,” Phil said, having regained his composure, “Did you mean to tell me you’re queer?”

His words stuck to his lips as he realized what he’d just done. It was all over. He might as well go ahead and write the undertaker for a coffin. Two hands were the only thing that kept him from running away forever.

Phil laughed lightly. “I’m not going to tell anybody. Like you said, if I told anybody about you, I’d have to tell them about me.”

Dan settled, although he could feel himself trembling. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s fine. Just, uh, where did that come from?” The doctor shifted his hands, resting one on Dan’s shoulder and the other on the side of his neck. Phil had to be flirting with him. There was no other explanation for any of it.

“I just, I, uh, um, oh no.” He was very, very glad it was dark. He imagined his face was as red as a cherry.

“Dan,” Phil said, “We’ve already told each other way too much to go back.”

He sighed. This was everything he’d dreamed of, and here he was, screwing it all up. “You’re right. I just…” Jesus, why did this have to be so embarrassing? He was a grown man. 

He looked at the moonlight shining on Phil’s cheek from the window and how it put a silver tint in his hair. He felt like he wasn’t in control of his own body as his heart pounded louder and louder. Before he could think about it, he planted his chapped lips on Phil’s and kissed him softly.

A few moments later, Phil kissed him back. 

Dan wrapped one arm around the older man’s waist and let the other hand find his hair. He couldn’t think of anything except Phil’s lips, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to. It was all he could do to hold him and not fall apart. He reveled in the careful embrace, feeling Phil’s thumb on his cheek and Phil’s chest close to his own. 

After a minute, they drew apart, although they still held each other. Dan’s voice cracked as he struggled to find a way to explain himself. “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Phil chuckled. Voice low, he replied, “It’s okay, Dan, really. I, uh, thought about it too.” He pressed his lips to Dan’s quickly, then retreated. “See? We didn’t die.”

A thump made them spring apart. Phil quickly straightened his hair and made sure his clothes were in order. He quickly flick the torch back on and shined it down the hall, then behind them. They didn’t see anyone.

Dan took a minute to calm his heart down. “How long have you been thinking about it?” he asked as he followed Phil down the corridor.

“A while,” the man replied. Dan was amazed that he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about his feelings or what they’d done.

They walked in silence back to the ward, Dan’s mind racing. When they arrived, he poked his head through the door. The nurses were still asleep. He hoped nobody had issues while he was gone. Before he could tiptoe to his bed, a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. 

Phil pulled him into a tight hug. “Thank you for understanding,” he whispered.

“It’s alright,” Dan replied, just as quiet. He held onto Phil for another moment before releasing him. With one last look, he turned and crept back to bed. He crawled under the covers, pulled Phil’s coat tighter around his body, and surrendered himself to sleep. 

* * *

A few weeks passed with little of significance. Dan continued to pine as his chest healed. The little glances and small touches slowly filled a portion of Dan’s heart that he didn’t know was empty. He tried his hardest to conceal how he felt, but Phil was not going easy on him.

Dan was starting to grow restless. He had been in the hospital for almost a month. As much as he enjoyed being with Phil, he felt like he’d explode if he didn’t have a change in scenery. He felt better, at least, better than he had the last few years. He had taken his time to relax.

He was walking around the floor one morning, idly chatting with the nurses he passed and joking with his fellow soldiers. It seemed as if the entire hospital was in good spirits. Eventually, he exited the racket of the ward. He presumed most of the rooms around him were offices. Most were unoccupied, as the doctors were doing surgeries or making their rounds.

The halls were slightly familiar. Maybe he’d stumble upon Phil’s office. If he was lucky, he’d find Phil inside, perhaps charting or enjoying a coffee. As he turned a corner, he heard arguing. He started to make out more of it as he approached.

He recognized Louise’s voice. “He’s been fine for a while. You read the surgeon-general’s letter yourself.” 

“I’m still observing him,” Phil replied forcefully. Well, it seemed like Dan found Phil’s office.

“You’ve been observing him for weeks. He has to go back sometime. He can’t live the rest of his life in the hospital. It’s driving him crazy being cooped up like he has been, you know that.”

“He’s still sensitive! He doesn’t need to shoot just yet.” Dan crept forward. He probably wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation, but he was too curious. His mum always said his curiosity would come back to bite him.

“They’re all sensitive, Phil. The only thing that’ll change that is time and use. I don’t think a rifle will even sit on his scar.”

“Louise,” Phil whined, “please let me keep Dan here for a little while longer.” 

Her response was almost too quiet for Dan to hear. “Look, I don’t care what you do in your free time, or who you do it with, and honestly, I’m very happy for you. But I really need you to consider your career for a moment. If any of the higher ups find out you held a soldier from duty for this reason, you’d be done as a doctor.”

Phil’s voice cracked, and Dan could feel his heart slowly tearing itself apart. “You’re right,” he replied. “I’m being a fool.”

Dan heard rustling. “You know I love you, right?” Louise asked. “And that I’m not being mean for the sake of it?”

“I know.” Phil’s reply was muffled.

“Good. He’ll write, I’m sure he will, and you’ll be able to see him when we all get home.”

“What if he doesn’t make it back? You know the numbers.”

“He will. Once you get sorted out, come do rounds. You can talk to him about it then.”

Dan didn’t catch Phil’s reply, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He wanted a little change in scenery, not this. He wasn’t ready to leave. He had so much more to talk to Phil about, so many more kisses and hugs and coffees to share. 

He heard a door close. Louise strode toward him, followed by muffled sobs. She grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him along. “Wipe your eyes,” she instructed, and he swiped at tears he didn’t know were there.

She deposited him behind a filing cabinet. “Louise,” he started, but she cut him off.

“He’s a wonderful doctor, and he’s one of the sweetest people I know. He just has his peculiarities. We all do,” she explained. “Phil really cares about you, more than he’ll ever admit. And you,” she stabbed a finger into his chest, “will not make this any harder on him than it already is. Please write him when you can, at least to tell him you’re not dead.”

Dan choked on his words. He nodded, the only response he could muster. Louise retracted the finger. “I really am sorry about all of this,” she said, before turning on her heel and leaving Dan to compose himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. See ya next week!


	4. No Athiests in Foxholes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so incredibly late, and I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy.

Dan ghosted through the next few days, almost unable to comprehend being alone again. The hospital had quickly turned itself into the home he didn’t have, and now he was being ripped from the people he felt safe with. He had to walk away from something he’d dreamed of his entire life.

After officially hearing of his release, he didn’t talk to Phil. Rather, he didn’t get the  _ chance _ to talk to Phil. The doctor hid himself well, only coming to the floor to do his rounds. They never spoke privately after the kiss. 

The day came. Louise saw him to the car, fussing over him. “Make sure they feed you. You need all your strength. You’re still on the mend, you know.”

“Louise,” Dan tried to interrupt, but she continued.

“And if it starts to hurt, put something cold on it over your shirt, not on the skin.”

“Louise.”

“And for the love of God, let us know you’re okay. I swear I’ll kick your ass if they send you back.”

A familiar voice cut into their one-sided conversation. “Louise, I’m sure Private Howell will be fine,” Phil said, appearing behind them. Both Louise and Dan gave him a look, as he had only called Dan ‘Private Howell’ once, but neither commented. “Here are your papers,” he said, handing Dan a neat envelope.

“Any words of wisdom, Captain Lester?” Dan asked, half-joking.

“I agree with Louise. Come back as a guest, not a patient.” He paused. “And tell the sergeant if anything hurts. It won’t do you any good to shoot on a sore shoulder.” 

Gravel rumbled. A truck approached. “Well, this is it,” Louise remarked, before pulling Dan into a hug. It was soft and warm, and Dan didn’t want to let go. He had to, though, as the truck slowed to a stop beside them. Slowly, he released her, and looked for Phil.

He was talking with the driver. “Yeah, it’s just him today,” Dan heard. “We might send a few more next week. Do you have the supply list?”

Dan disregarded the conversation. He threw his bag in the back and rejoined Louise. “What’s on this side of the building?” he asked.

“Wards, I believe.” She looked at him, the question in her eyes one Dan wouldn’t answer. “Nobody will think anything of a quick hug,” she said, hushed. “Everyone knows Phil’s more comfortable with you than he is with anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.” She looked behind him. “Here he comes.”

Phil cleared his throat. “Private Howell.”

“Dan,” he replied.

Phil smiled wryly and glanced at his shoes. “Dan. You’re finally out.”

“I’d kill for a few more days in.”

Phil’s head shot up. “But I thought you wanted to go.”

A grin exploded across Dan’s face. “You’re an idiot, Phil Lester.”

Louise interjected. “As much as I would love to have you stay forever, I’m sure the driver would not.”

Phil huffed. “I guess not.” He extended a hand, and Dan took it, pulling Phil into a hug that was tighter than it needed to be.

He lingered only for a moment, clinging to the feeling of Phil underneath his hands and pressed into his chest. He needed to remember. It could be years before the war ended and they saw one another. The next bullet could leave him in a grave in Europe. He stayed locked in their embrace long enough to whisper three words.

“I’ll find you.”

Phil nodded as they drew apart. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. 

“We’ll see you when you get home,” Louise declared. She ushered him into the truck and waved to the driver. The seat under him shook as the driver pulled away. 

“I’ll find you,” he insisted, promising, vowing. He would hold on to those three words until he fulfilled his oath or died. “I’ll find you.”

* * *

Dan rejoined his squad in Hottot. They had just taken the village from German tanks, evident by the rubble and ruin scattered about. As he approached, he heard a call. “Hey, everybody! Dan’s back!”

Heads popped out from behind barricades. They were covered in dirt and mud, something he didn’t miss. He hated being dirty, and that was all a soldier ever was. He greeted everybody, shaking hands and sharing smiles, but something wasn’t right.

A firm hand slapped his back. “How was home?” someone asked.

“It was Manchester, not home, but it was good.”

“I’m sure you enjoyed the nurses,” one of the men, David, commented. Rather, Dan enjoyed a doctor, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he just grinned.

There weren’t as many faces sitting around as there had been. “Where’s...?” 

“We lost Will on the beach,” another, Sam, began, and others chimed in.

“Michael got shot in Tilly, and they sent him home. It didn’t look great.”

“Pete when we tried for Hottot the first time. The medics said he probably won’t keep his leg.”

“They got George and Ralph a few days ago.” 

Dan’s stomach dropped. While he wasn’t great friends with any of them, he had heard them talk about their families and girlfriends back home. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in Phil’s neck and hold him long enough to forget about this god-forsaken war.

“That’s enough,” Sgt. Harris commanded. “You caught him up.” Dan heard a few muttered apologies.

Death and pain always accompany war. You can’t escape it. All you can do is struggle and pray that it’s over quickly.

So that’s what Dan would do. He would fight and hope that the pain wasn’t too great and that Death left him alone long enough to go home. “Come on,” the sergeant commanded. “Let’s talk about orders.”

* * *

Over the next month and a half, the Northumbrian division pushed west, through the Falaise pocket, and on September 2nd, Dan and the Hampshires entered Brussels. By September 4th, they had captured and garrisoned the port of Antwerp, giving the men some time to catch their breath.

He missed Phil more than anything. He continued to write the hospital, subtly asking about Phil in every letter. Louise was always the one to answer, ensuring Dan they were fine. They had moved into France soon after he was sent back. 

Phil always came up at the worst times. Every cup of coffee reminded him of a different conversation. Every time hard wood pressed into his scar reminded him of how gentle Phil’s fingers were. Each stranger overwhelmed with joy reminded him of the kiss that lasted both a lifetime and a moment. 

Whenever he was lost in a daze, David would call, “The lad’s in love, boys!” The man would be met with an uproar of whistles and taunts. 

One such call stuck in his mind. “A lucky girl, to have our Dan!” 

_ And lucky am I to have him, _ he silently replied. Dan truly was lucky. During a war where do much was torn apart, he found someone to put him back together.

He thought of Phil as rough bark pressed against his back and his boots dug into Dutch mud. He thought of how Phil couldn’t hurt a fly as he shot man after man. He never kept track of how many he killed.

Eventually, as they took Valkenswaard and Nijmegen, his thoughts of Phil faded to every once in a while. His thoughts changed to how the countryside must have been beautiful and how it would be beautiful again someday. He thought of the history of the towns they were destroying as the 231st sank their teeth into the Netherlands.

The letters continued. Louise constantly reminded him that they couldn’t fight forever and that they were putting more pressure on Germany all the time. It was hard, though, to keep off the weariness of the day to day and to settle the uprising in his heart.

When they dug into "The Island", the bridgehead north of Nijmegen, fighting became routine. They lost several men through October and November. Mortar fire provided the background music to his life, irregular and regular at the same time.

Things didn’t improve when he took leave to cities they had captured. Scars remained from the endless game of chess they played with German troops. Everyone looked tired, worn down from years of struggling to survive. The locals held concerts and dances, and the smiles on the mouths of young men and women only put Dan in a worse mood. Eventually, he quit going to them.

And on a cold night, as Dan sat out in the late November air, he caught a few words he never thought he’d hear. 

“We’re going home.”

The boys set foot on British soil in mid-December. The war was by no means over, which meant the royal army still needed troops, and who better to train them than the battle-weary men from the front?

Dan may have been home, but he knew he would never be truly home until Phil was back in England. He often wondered whether or not the man had forgotten him. He himself had forgotten some of the details, but never would he forget the shape of Phil’s lips or the color palette of his eyes. He wouldn’t forget his tender hands and his thin chest. He wouldn’t forget the feelings of bliss and release and love.

He lost track of the hospital. He continued his letters to Louise, detailing his daily life. He spoke of visits with his mother and training young men to move, fight, kill. He talked about how he saw his younger self in these boys. They were bright-eyed, naive, exhibiting a certain fire that had long since died in Dan’s heart.

Louise wrote of simple things, of patients and surgeries and interactions. Occasionally she wrote of her dreams and plans for the future. She wanted to meet a nice man and settle down, she wrote, maybe have a few kids along the way. Dan thought that maybe he wanted that, too.

He tried daydreaming of other people, but his brain wouldn’t let him. All he could think of were his three sacred words, “I’ll find you.”

They played in his head in May, when the war was officially won, and they played again a few months later, when he was finally discharged. He moved back in with his mum and drifted between jobs.

He watched her soft brown eyes fill with worry, because he was a twenty-five-year-old veteran without a plan or anything to hold him down. He was okay with that, because Phil not being home tied him down well enough.

Dan would find Phil. The moment Louise told him the hospital was disbanding, he would tear apart heaven and earth to find him. But for now, he played the waiting game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See ya at an unspecified point in the future!


	5. Coming In from the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAN, AND HAPPY PRIDE! I now present you with the fifth and final chapter of A Bullet or Two for You. I hope you enjoy!

Dan stepped into the crisp December air, wrapping his coat tighter around himself. He walked to the post office, shaking the snow off before he entered. He greeted the postmaster, who responded cheerily.

He collected the mail with a smile. Waving his goodbyes, he stepped into the winter weather, sorting through a collection of letters: one from his grandmother, surely inviting their family to her house for Christmas dinner; a few bills; a letter from one of Mum’s friends; and there, carrying a purple censor stamp, an active service envelope, signed one Louise Pentland.

Hands numb from the cold, Dan fumbled to open the letter. Their correspondence had drifted after the war ended, as the hospital rushed to treat all manner of war wounds and to rebuild hospitals in continental Europe. He extracted a single piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded it. It read as such:

_“Dear Daniel,_

_The hospital is finally disbanding. We’ll be sailing to England in a week and will be stripped of our duties then. I’ll write you again once I’m settled._

_Phil plans on staying with his parents until he finds a job. I never got an exact address, but I believe they live near the library in Rawtenstall. I’m sure if you ask around for Nigel or Kathryn Lester, someone will know where they live._

_Phil is doing fine, and so am I. He still brushes me off when I talk about you, but it’s easy to tell he’s excited to be home._

_You’ll find him, Dan. I’m sure of it._

_With love,_

_Louise.”_

Dan could hardly contain his excitement. The day he had been waiting two and a half _years_ for was finally on the doorstep. Ignoring his increasingly cold toes, he raced for home.

“Mum!” he called as he burst through the door. “He’s coming home!”

She was tidying the kitchen, preparing to cook lunch. “Who is, dear?”

“The doctor I told you about, Phil,” he responded, shedding his cap and coat. “The hospital’s disbanding, and they’ll be in England in the next week or two.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. Dan caught the last second of a knowing look before she turned to the dishes. His feelings for the man, and for men in general, had never been discussed under their roof; he was terrified he’d break his mother’s heart if he didn’t provide grandchildren. However, as much as he tried to hide it, his romantic life was so empty that she couldn’t help but guess his attentions didn’t involve women. “Will you be visiting him?”

“As soon as I can, I hope.” If he could have, he would leave now, but he had his job to think about, and the upcoming holidays, and all the work his grandmother needed done this winter.

Mum made a ‘hmpf’ sound and began chopping vegetables.

* * *

The holidays passed swiftly. He only held on to two memories that year. The first occurred late in the evening on December 24th, after his parents had gone to bed. His grandmother sat in her rocker, knitting by the firelight as she pulled stories from the war out of Dan.

He found himself telling her things he’d meant to keep to himself. He told her the truth about his hospital stay before he realized what he’d done.

“You really love him, dear,” his grandma said, as casual as if she were talking about the weather.

Dan’s breath caught in his throat. He felt a wave crash over him. All of the things that were bottled in his heart were finally released. All the sadness and joy and anger overwhelmed him, until he felt tears stream down his cheeks. At last he managed a teary, strangled, whispered “I do.”

“Good,” she said, matter-of-fact. “The sooner you accept things as they are, the happier you’ll be. You are doing something about this, yes?”

Dan was shocked. His grandma, the most powerful woman he knew, didn’t bat an eye at his confession. “Y-you don’t… hate me?” he whispered.

“God doesn’t make mistakes, dear. He gave you battles to fight. You’ve fought some of them, and you’ve yet to fight the rest. You _will_ fight the rest, or I’ll know why.” She fixed him solidly with a gaze that was a little shorter than it used to be. “My opinion of you doesn’t change based on who you love, child. You’re my flesh and blood. No matter what, I’ll always love you.”

She set her knitting aside and rose. Dan stooped to accept her hug and watched her disappear into the next room.

He sat, pulling a blanket tighter around his shoulders, and cried himself to sleep. The universe seemed a little nicer. His grandma loved him for who he was. That was enough.

* * *

The second memory of the holidays arrived on the morning of December 30th. After a brisk walk to the post office, Dan collected a single envelope from the postmaster and waved his thanks. Once he stepped outside, he glanced at the return address.

It was from one Dr. Philip Lester, from an address in Manchester.

Dan made quick work of the envelope, careful not to tear it. He opened the carefully creased folds and read:

_“Dan,_

_I’m home._

_Phil.”_

Dan’s heart pounded a quick march in his chest. After two and a half years of silence, Phil sent him two words and an address.

This couldn’t be real. Somebody was playing a trick on him, he was sure.

But could it be? He had to check it out, just to be certain.

He couldn’t leave work, or his mum. He would just have to write the address to verify the source.

But Dan had promised.

He promised Phil he would be found, and it was a vow he would never, ever break. He had to go, even if he was exposed, even if it jeopardized everything he had ever worked toward.

That wasn’t much, anyhow. He would get all the money he could spare, buy a train ticket, and ride up to Manchester. It was settled.

Very dignified and business-like, he stuffed the letter inside his coat, then raced to collect his pay for the week.

* * *

Dan glanced down, checking the return address for the thousandth time. It had accumulated a slight amount of grime as it slipped in and out of his coat. He took a shaky breath, and another one, and finally gathered his courage.

Quickly, precisely, he issued the door three hard raps.

He heard someone shift on the other side. His heart thudded louder and louder with every shuffled step. The handle rattled, and the dark wood swung inward.

Phil Lester appeared in the doorway. His bright blue eyes changed from confused to startled as a strangled “Dan!” escaped his throat.

“I’m here,” Dan replied, feeling a stupid grin spread across his lips.

The door promptly shut in his face.

This was not the reaction Dan had expected. In fact, this was the exact opposite. In his shock, he barely registered running footsteps and the sound of curtains being shut. He stared at the space where Phil’s head had been, wondering what he could have possibly done wrong.

Bewildered, Dan didn’t see the door open before hands grabbed his jacket and towed him inside the flat. A single lamp illuminated little of the room and of the face before his. He was pushed backwards, closing the door with a thud, before desperate lips pressed against his own.

He shut his eyes tight, holding on for dear life. His pulse hammered hard in his neck, and his brain might have well been smoke, as hazy as he felt. Finding some agency, he wrapped a firm arm around Phil’s waist and rooted the other hand in his hair.

He didn’t know how many times they gasped for air, only to find each other’s lips again. Dan let the restlessness and fear of the last few years bleed away. Warmth spread to fill his skin. Finally, he had come in from the cold. Finally, he was home.

At last, Phil buried his face in Dan’s chest. “If this is how we make up for lost time,” Dan quipped, “I’ll spend another year or two overseas.”

Phil’s small chuckle turned into a sob.

Panic filled Dan’s lungs. “Oh no, darling, I didn’t mean that. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m staying right here.” Phil’s sobs grew louder. “I’m here, Phil. _We’re_ here. We’re home.”

Phil cried himself out in Dan’s arms. There was less of him to hold than there used to be. Murmuring comforts into Phil’s hair was all Dan could do not to burst into tears himself.

Finally Phil looked into his face, eyes blurry and nose red. “I missed you.”

Still holding Phil close, he placed a delicate kiss on his forehead. “I missed you, too.” They clutched each other for a moment more, before Dan carefully uncurled Phil’s hands from his coat. Producing a handkerchief, he briskly cleaned his glasses before wiping away his tears.

“Oh, I’m being silly,” Phil giggled.

“Never,” Dan joked, receiving the laughter he wanted to hear, the kind that told him Phil would be alright.

“I’ll make tea,” Phil said. He disappeared into another room as Dan grabbed his suitcase from the hall.

They ended up sprawled together on the sofa, Dan cuddled close to Phil’s chest, Phil idly wrapping curls around his fingers. They breathed in content silence, enjoying their mutual warmth.

On one breath, Dan caught a scent that couldn’t be replicated, the one he had wrapped himself in that summer night so long ago. A tear slipped down his cheek, then another, and another. It was Dan’s turn to cry himself silly.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Phil whispered, running a soothing hand up and down his back.

“You don’t understand,” Dan said through hiccups. “I waited so long, and now you’re here, and you’re _real_. You’re not just some part of my imagination. You exist! I never thought I’d hear from you again! And then… then you wrote me, and you were here. Here! Right where I could find you!”

“You said you would, and you really did,” Phil responded, cupping Dan’s face with hands as warm as he remembered. “You found me.”

* * *

“And that’s the story,” Daniel Howell, world-renown and now retired journalist, finished, absently rubbing the starburst scar that had changed his life.

“That’s amazing,” the young reporter commented, clearly awed. “And you’ve been together for almost seventy years?”

“We have,” Dan replied, nodding. “I consider myself very lucky to have held onto him for so long.” He waved to Phil, who was dozing lightly in an armchair.

They continued the interview until a gasp sounded from Phil. He looked around frantically, searching for something he couldn’t find. “Excuse me for just a moment,” Dan said, and lurched up from the couch. He tottered over to the armchair, picked up the black glasses on the side table, and slid them onto the bridge of his partner’s nose.

Looking into his eyes, Dan saw that the man he had fallen in love with was still here. His hair had long turned thin and silver, and he had more wrinkles than he started with, but his eyes were as blue as ever, and his smile was still the same.

“Come on, let’s sit on the sofa,” Dan said with a grin of his own. Wrapping his hands around Phil’s elbows, he let the older man pull himself upright.

“What are we doing?” Phil asked when they were settled on the couch, hand in hand.

“We’re doing an interview,” Dan responded.

“What for?”

“Same-sex marriage was legalized and they want our opinions.”

“Really? When?”

“A few weeks ago. The newspaper’s lying around somewhere.”

“That’s phenomenal! We can get married?”

“If you want to.”

“Do you want to?”

“I think we’ll be alright without it,” Dan responded, then explained to the journalist, “We’ve already gotten things arranged for end-of-life care and all that, so marriage won’t change any of it. Plus, I’d feel a bit silly getting married at 94.”

“Married or not doesn’t change the fact that I love you,” Phil chimed in.

“I love you, too.”

Phil placed a soft kiss on Dan’s cheek.

The reporter saw something she had never seen during an interview before, a forever-burning, never-ending kind of love, the kind that got you through life in one piece. Some held that kind of passion for things or projects, but some, she noted, held that kind of love for another person, and that was perhaps the most beautiful thing in existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! You can find me on Tumblr as dans-finger-guns.  
> With love, Emily

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! You can find me on Tumblr as dans-finger-guns. (It's a lot of shitposting.) See ya next week!


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